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  I smiled back. I wasn’t sure how to start the conversation so I blurted it out. “I want to get baptized into the Mormon Church.”

  “Oh, Julie,” my mother sighed, sitting down on the stool next to me. She didn’t sound excited at all. I guess I should have expected that. I expected her to be a little angry, but I figured that she had been through worse with my brothers. Certainly my finding a church I believed in couldn’t be anything like what they had put her through, so I didn’t expect her to feel sad, which is how she looked.

  Tears filled her eyes. “Julie, what have I done wrong? I don’t want to lose all of my children. First Mark moved away from home, then Kevin . . .” She didn’t finish with Kevin. “And now you want to join a strange church?” She shook her head. “I’ve been so happy with the way you’ve been finding yourself this year, and I don’t have anything against Mormons—Michaela is a sweet girl—but I don’t want to lose you too.”

  “Mom, a big part of me finding myself and being so happy about everything has been this church.” I felt like there had to be words to help her understand if I could just find them. Maybe they were in the Book of Mormon! If I read her the chapters Mikey and I had discussed, she would have to feel the way I did and understand how important this was. “Wait here,” I said and ran upstairs to find my scriptures. It took me a few minutes, but soon I ran down with the Book of Mormon and Mikey’s Bible in my hands.

  My mother still sat there, and my stepfather was there with her now. He is a kind man, a quiet man, and I love him for the gentle way he treats my mother, but there is rock underneath. “Julie,” he said, “your mother has been telling me that you want to get baptized into the Mormon Church.”

  I nodded. “I do. I really believe that it is true.”

  He sighed. “I know it’s been important to you lately and your friends seem like good kids. It’s been wonderful to see you develop such good friendships. I don’t think either your mother or I have any problem with you associating with them. Right?” He looked to my mother for confirmation, and she nodded. “But we don’t want you to get baptized.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “I already told you,” my mother said, reaching out to hug me. “I don’t want to lose you.”

  “How would you lose me?” I asked, completely taken aback. “I’ll still be here. I’ll still be your daughter. I’m not going to move away or anything.”

  “Yes, but you’ll become a part of something I don’t understand. I don’t understand all about the things the Mormons teach. I know polygamy was a part of their history somewhere. And I’ve heard they believe that women should stay home with their children and you have such a fine mind and so many talents. I don’t want it to all be wasted. There is too much to this church that I don’t understand.”

  “I could help you understand it!” I said, excitedly. “If you would read the Book of Mormon and meet with the missionaries, just like I’ve been doing, then—”

  She broke in. “I’m sorry, Julie, but my answer has to be no. If you are still interested in the Mormon Church when you are eighteen, there’s nothing I’ll be able to do to stop you, and you can go ahead and be baptized. If you’re still interested in it two years down the road, then that’s a different matter. But for now, it’s not something I can give my permission for you to do. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

  I stood there holding the Book of Mormon in my hands for a little while longer while my parents turned away to fix breakfast.

  If she had just let me read this to her! I kept telling myself. When Mikey came over later to see how it went, I had to tell her. It was awful to watch the excitement drain from her face. “I know,” I said. “I feel terrible.” I started to cry. “I feel like I finally found the one thing that would work for me and now it’s being taken away. But I can’t disobey my mom and I know that the missionaries said the Church believes in having your parents’ permission before you’re eighteen, so what am I going to do? I’m already so far behind with these things. Now I’ll never catch up.”

  To my surprise, Mikey laughed. “Julie, you’re learning so much so fast. Catching up is the last thing you have to worry about. I was excited to get baptized when I was eight, but I definitely didn’t understand how beautiful and powerful it was. Not like you will. I wish that you could get baptized right now, today, but your baptism will be beautiful no matter when it happens because of the faith you’ll bring into those waters.”

  “But what if I really do have to wait two years?”

  “Remember that scripture in Alma we read? If you ask Heavenly Father, believing that you will receive, he will give you hope.” She smiled at me. “You will be blessed because of your belief, and he will help you through however long it is until your baptism. You’ll have hope and you won’t give up.”

  I knelt to pray after she had left. I didn’t know how to start, so I just started by asking, over and over, “Heavenly Father, please give me hope. Please give me hope and help me know what to do.” Then I thought of something else. “Please help me to truly repent so that when the time comes to be baptized, I will be absolutely ready.”

  I looked at the clock. It was almost time for Mom to leave to visit Kevin at the prison. I’ve never been. I’ve never wanted to go, and she’s stopped asking me if I want to come. I’ve been afraid to visit because I don’t want to see Kevin in there, because I’m scared of both the prison and of him. I’m scared of all the feelings I’ll have when I see him, especially now that I know Mr. Thomas personally and know that he lost his mother because of Kevin’s choices.

  I knew in my heart what I should do and I acted as quickly as I could before the fear took away the hope again. I put on my coat and went out to stand on the front porch. It’s cold in Seattle in January; the rain has an icy edge to it that it doesn’t have later in the year. I usually put my hood up to shield my face. Instead, I lifted my face to the sky and let the rain freckle my face, spangle my hair, jewel my eyelashes. And hide my tears.

  When my mother came out to the car, she found me waiting in the front seat. She didn’t say anything. She climbed into the driver’s seat and started the car and the heater, rubbing her hands together to get them warm before touching the chilled plastic steering wheel. Before she started to back out of the driveway, she reached over and gave my hand a squeeze. I could see the rain mingled with the tears on her face. I reached over and hugged her. I had enough hope for both of us. Maybe even enough for Kevin too.

  Chapter 13

  February

  Andrea Beckett

  There was a glaring blank spot on my college applications this fall. The part where I’m supposed to list “community service.” I hadn’t worried about it before because I knew that my essays were perfect, that my running accolades were impressive, and that my grades in my college-level course classes spoke for themselves. I thought I was the epitome of the well-rounded student that schools would be looking for and wanting to accept. And in a way, I was right. Cornell, my number one school, had already accepted me. I was set.

  Until I wanted to apply for a summer internship at the cancer center in Seattle and found out that the community service part of that application was the biggest part of all. I wanted that internship desperately since being a doctor someday is my target career path. The internship would look great when I applied to med schools later.

  I don’t have time for service after school, with track practice and homework and all, so I wasn’t sure how I was going to fit it in, but I knew it had to be done. At first, I thought I might count my time visiting Grandma as community service. She does live in a retirement home after all. Then I felt a little ashamed about doing that. It seemed like I was using Grandma and something inside of me didn’t want to do that.

  Finally I remembered that David Sherman did peer tutoring one period a day during school. That seemed like a perfect solution—I could schedule the community service right in where it would fit. It would mean giving up orchestra, but I could probably
spare it since I had met the fine arts requirement for graduation and was already on track for college. Plus I was getting a little tired of sawing away on the violin day after day and year after year. It would be good to try something new.

  I went to the counseling office to make the change. Even though the new term had started, I was sure they would make an exception and I was right. Mrs. Barlow, the counselor, practically fell over with joy. “I think this is a wonderful idea,” she said. “It will mean so much to those students to have your help. We lost a few peer tutors last semester and I know that Mr. Newman will be thrilled to have more. You can start today. I’ll make the change in your schedule effective immediately. This is so sweet of you!”

  I felt slightly uncomfortable with all her praise, considering that the main reason I was even making the change was self-serving, but I didn’t say anything. Why disillusion her?

  “Now,” Mrs. Barlow said, handing me the paper, “you’ll need to get Principal Downing to sign this, and then you’ll be all set.”

  “Principal Downing?” I asked.

  “Yes. She has to approve all course changes this late in the year, especially for seniors. I’m sure it won’t take long.”

  My lunch period was already halfway gone. I went to the principal’s office and luckily she was free. I sat down across from Principal Downing and wondered again what had made her decide to chop off all her long blonde hair and replace it with this less-than-flattering haircut. I have a lot of respect for Principal Downing, though. It takes a tough woman to be a principal and I know the district office has come calling for her to be superintendent a time or two. But she’s dedicated to Lakeview High so she stays here. I don’t know if that shows she’s smart or not. She could make a lot more money as superintendent.

  “You want to be a peer tutor?” she asked. It was a little unflattering how surprised she sounded.

  “Yes,” I said. “I don’t really need orchestra anymore. I have already fulfilled the fine arts requirement.”

  “But what about the upcoming concerts?” she asked. “Are you leaving Ms. Hall in the lurch?”

  “No,” I said. “I’m not first violin and I don’t have any solos. There’s plenty of violinists. I’d like to do something different.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked, her pen hovering over the slip.

  “I’m sure,” I said, a little irritated. She didn’t even really know me and now she was questioning my sincerity?

  “Why this sudden interest in peer tutoring?”

  Honesty is the best policy, right? Besides Principal Downing is like a human polygraph test. No one can slip a lie past her—she sees right through them. “I’m applying for an internship at the cancer research center in Seattle this summer.” She looked up at me suddenly and I paused, but she didn’t say anything, so I continued. “I need more community service on my application if I’m going to get in. I know I’m weak in that area, but I think I’d be good at the research if I can just get in. And I could probably use a little work on my bedside manner if I’m really going to be a doctor. Peer tutoring might help with that too.”

  She gave me a look that was hard to read. “Well, if you think you can handle it, then it’s all right by me.” She signed the slip and handed it back to me. “You can go ahead and report to Mr. Newman after lunch.”

  I took the paper back with her crisp black signature on the yellow paper and thanked her.

  Lately, it’s been way too awkward to eat in the cafeteria with everyone whispering about me, so I’ve been going home for lunch instead. We live close to the school so I can make it there and back if I hurry. My mom is at work and Chloe and Ethan are at school so I have the house to myself. It is a lot healthier than eating at the school, a lot easier than packing a lunch, and a lot lonelier than eating with everyone else.

  Today there wasn’t time to go home and I hadn’t thought to pack a lunch, so I had to brave the cafeteria. Going without food when I run so much simply isn’t an option. The least offensive entrée in the place was a chicken salad—rubbery chicken reclining on a wilting lettuce bed. I doused it with ranch dressing so that I could choke it down. I heard Principal Downing behind me in line, ordering the same thing.

  I took my salad into the cafeteria. It had been a long time since I’d been there—a few months, in fact. The atmosphere was as raucous as ever and almost all of the tables were full. I didn’t see my old group. They must have gone out somewhere to eat, which was probably a good thing.

  Before our breakup in the fall, I used to eat with Connor and his friends. I’d eaten with them since my sophomore year. It was a big group, full of football players and cheerleaders and student body officers. Lots of people refer to it as the popular group, but I am realizing more and more that there is no such thing. It was strange to realize that fact after all the years of trying to get into Conner’s group and then the years of being part of it. Now, I would call my old lunch group the High-Visibility Group—the people that do things in front of the school, like play sports and organize assemblies. There were some good people in that group that I missed, but there had been some jerks too. It’s probably like that with most groups, but since I don’t really belong to any group these days, I can’t be sure.

  I scanned the tables, looking for somewhere to set my tray. High school is full of decisions like these—little ones with lots of variables and huge repercussions. I couldn’t sit down uninvited with people I didn’t know, and no one seemed to be inviting me. I had to pretend that I was looking for someone, so no one would notice that I was alone and didn’t have a place. I had to keep out of the way of the people coming through the door behind me. I had to balance my backpack and my salad and the signed slip I was holding and stick the change from lunch into my pocket without spilling anything. And I had to do it all fast. Hesitate for a minute, and they’ll eat you alive in this place.

  One thing I’ve learned is that it’s important to always look like you have a purpose. My eye caught some people leaving at the back, so I made a beeline for their table. I wish I’d thought to bring one of my textbooks. Then if anyone noticed that I was sitting alone, they would think it was because I had studying to do.

  I set my salad down in the middle of the refuse the other group had left behind and pulled the scarred orange plastic chair up to the table. I intended to set another school record. It would be the record for the fastest lunch consumption ever to take place in the Lakeview High School cafeteria. I speared the lettuce and chicken and stuck it into my mouth.

  One of the rules of life is that someone will always ask you something as soon as you’ve filled your mouth with food. Another is that your dentist will always ask you lots of questions while he’s working on your teeth, which is absurd because there’s no way to answer them.

  “Can I sit here?”

  I looked up and saw Principal Downing. I nodded, since I couldn’t speak, and she sat down next to me.

  “How’s the salad?” she asked with a wry grin. “I always pack my lunch and it’s always extra healthy, but I forgot it on the counter at home today.”

  I swallowed. “Passable.” There were only ten minutes left until the bell, thank goodness. I didn’t mind sitting with the principal; I’m sure no one thought I was in trouble and at least I wasn’t alone. However, I wasn’t sure what we were going to talk about for those ten minutes. The people at the next table looked over at us and then looked away. There wouldn’t be any food fights or talk about crazy weekend antics anywhere near us for the rest of the lunch hour.

  She took a bite and chewed it. “Good adjective,” she said, taking a big drink of water. “Passable about covers it.” She pulled out a little plastic container full of pills and swallowed them down. I was watching, even though I pretended not to be.

  She knew it too. “I’m on a lot of meds,” she said, without looking up, as she put her pill case back into her purse. Then she startled me with a direct gaze. “Nothing exciting or recreational, I’m afraid.”
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  “I didn’t think that,” I said, caught off guard.

  “Now this is my vice,” she said, pulling a plastic bag out of her purse. “Homemade chocolate chip cookies.” She popped one into her mouth. “Takes away that chalky pill aftertaste and it’s delicious. Do you want one?” She held one out to me. “Mr. Thomas brought them into the office for the faculty meeting later today and I snuck some into my purse. I keep trying to get the recipe from him and he keeps forgetting to give it to me, so I thought I was justified.”

  I didn’t know what else to do, so I took it. “Thanks,” I said. I guess taking food from teachers and principals is safe, right? I took a bite. It was delicious. “This is good,” I said. “He should market them.”

  “That’s what I keep telling him,” she said, a little absently. Then she turned and looked at me with another one of her direct gazes. “Andrea, I’m sorry about giving you the third degree earlier. If you want to be a peer tutor, that’s wonderful. I was just surprised.”

  “Why?” I asked. “Don’t I seem like the type?”

  She laughed. “No, it’s more that you are so busy. You remind me a lot of myself when I was younger. You have your mind set on the goal at all times. I’m glad you’re taking the time out to help someone else. I’ve been getting better at that, but it’s taken a while to learn.” She had another bite of salad and made a face. “This is getting less and less passable by the minute. I’m going to go buy a carton of milk and eat cookies instead.” She scooted her chair back and headed back into the cafeteria line. Students moved to let her pass and she waved to some of them. They waved back.

  My face burned after she left. She thought I was taking time out to help someone else, but really it was all for my application. But working at the cancer research center is helping others, I told myself, and this was what I had to do to get there. It didn’t make me feel better about my motives, though.

  Principal Downing came back with two cartons of milk and handed one to me. “Here you go,” she said.